Amara barely slept that night.
The contract—now signed and sealed—burned a hole in her handbag like a secret too heavy to carry. Her mind raced with doubts, and yet every time she remembered the number at the bottom of that page, she reminded herself: This wasn't love. It was survival.
She tiptoed into the apartment she shared with her best friend, hoping for silence.
No such luck.
"What the hell is on your face?"
Sienna's voice sliced through the quiet like a blade. She stood in the kitchen doorway in a pineapple-print pajama set, holding a half-empty mug of coffee and wearing a look of deep suspicion.
Amara blinked. "What do you mean?"
"That expression. You've got that 'I-just-signed-my-life-away' face. What happened?"
Amara dropped her bag on the couch and sighed, collapsing beside it. "Okay. Sit down."
Sienna didn't sit. She slowly lowered her mug. "Oh god. What did you do?"
"I signed a contract... to marry Damon Blackwood."
Silence.
Then: "I knew it! I knew he was hot for you. Didn't I say it? I said it!"
"It's not like that," Amara groaned, rubbing her temples. "It's a business deal. He needs a wife for six months to secure his inheritance. That's it. No love. No sex. Just... PR."
Sienna blinked. "You're telling me... Damon Blackwood, billionaire, emotionally repressed CEO, ice-king of the Western hemisphere, asked you to marry him for show?"
"Basically, yeah."
"And you said yes?!"
Amara nodded slowly. "He made me an offer I couldn't afford to refuse. Literally."
Sienna walked in a slow circle like she needed oxygen. "This is insane. This is like... Netflix drama levels of insane."
"Oh, and there's more," Amara added with a nervous laugh. "He's taking me to dinner tonight. Somewhere upscale. To make our 'first public appearance.'"
Sienna gasped and pointed at her. "You're going on a date with your fake fiancé tonight and didn't lead with that?! Girl!"
Amara shrugged helplessly. "I was still processing."
"You need a dress. Hair. Makeup. Oh my god, your eyebrows. Amara!"
"I don't need to look like a runway model, Sienna."
"Yes, you do! You're marrying Damon Blackwood. You can't show up looking like an unpaid intern who stumbled into the wrong gala."
Amara finally smiled. "So you'll help me?"
Sienna tossed her coffee aside. "Say less. Operation Fake Fiancée starts now."
---
By the time the sun dipped behind the skyline, Sienna had transformed Amara into someone else entirely.
Her plum-colored satin dress hugged her curves with elegant confidence, its off-shoulder cut skimming her collarbones like a whisper. Her curls were swept to one side, soft and full, and a delicate gold chain shimmered at her throat.
"I feel like I'm about to enter the Hunger Games," Amara muttered as she adjusted her heels in the mirror.
Sienna smirked. "You look like a queen. Just don't fall in those heels and you'll be fine."
As Amara stepped outside, a sleek black town car waited curbside. She'd never ridden in anything that looked like it cost more than her yearly salary. The driver opened the door for her with a silent nod, and she slid inside.
Damon was already waiting.
He looked up from his phone and froze. His expression didn't change much—but his eyes? They swept over her like a flame tracing silk.
"You clean up well," he said coolly, but there was something in his tone. Approval? Surprise?
"You're not so bad yourself," she replied, settling into the seat. "Where are we going?"
"Virella. Rooftop restaurant. The press will be there. Smile when the cameras flash. Look at me like I'm your greatest weakness."
"Easy," she muttered. "You already give me anxiety."
He chuckled. It was low. Almost warm. Almost.
---
The rooftop sparkled with city lights and chandeliers suspended from gold beams. Waiters in tuxedos glided past with trays of wine, while a string quartet played something elegant in the corner.
Amara had never felt so out of place.
But she pasted on a smile and wrapped her fingers around Damon's arm as he led her inside.
The whispers started immediately.
"That's her?"
"She's stunning."
"Gold-digger. Guaranteed."
She squeezed his arm without thinking.
"You okay?" Damon asked under his breath.
"No. But I will be," she replied, echoing what she'd told Sienna.
---
💫 Across the Room...
Eli Donovan leaned casually against the bar, glass in hand, eyes trained on the couple.
"She's beautiful," he said quietly.
"Yeah, and way too good for your cousin," a voice beside him said.
He turned—and nearly spilled his drink.
Sienna Torres, in a bold red wrap dress, hair pinned in a soft twist, was sipping champagne and raising an eyebrow like she owned the place.
"Let me guess," she said. "Suspicious, overprotective, and already planning to investigate me?"
Eli blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You've got the 'I don't trust new people' vibe," she added, tilting her head. "You work with Damon, don't you?"
"Cousin. Executive assistant."
"Cute. I'm Sienna. Best friend, stylist, and moral compass to your cousin's new fiancée."
Eli looked her up and down slowly, unimpressed. "So you're the sassy sidekick."
"And you're the moody one with the tragic backstory." She grinned. "We're going to get along great."
---
Back at the main table, Amara picked nervously at the edges of her napkin as Damon introduced her to two shareholders, a board member, and a fashion executive who definitely didn't blink once.
She felt like she was on display. A mannequin. A prop.
Damon noticed.
Without warning, he reached over, took her hand in his, and brushed a featherlight kiss to her knuckles.
It was all for show.
And yet—her heart skipped a beat.
She looked up at him, eyes meeting his, and in that moment she forgot the lights. The people. The cameras.
There was something in his gaze—something unreadable, unreadably soft.
Then it was gone.
---
Later that night, as the car pulled up to her building and she reached for the door handle, Damon stopped her.
"You did well tonight," he said quietly.
"Thanks. I only thought I was going to throw up three times."
A pause.
Then, in a voice that sounded almost reluctant: "You don't just look the part, Amara. You play it perfectly."
She hesitated. "And what about you?"
His eyes met hers. "I never fake anything I can't control."
She got out before she could ask what he meant.
---
Meanwhile, inside the restaurant, Eli was still watching the door even after Amara and Damon had left. Sienna leaned against the bar beside him, swirling the last of her drink.
"You know," she said, "if you keep looking at her like that, people might think you're in love with her."
Eli didn't look at her.
But he smirked. "And if you keep showing up in dresses like that, people might think I care."
"Oh, sweetheart," she purred, "You will."
---
End of Chapter Two